Mismatched to Make the Whole
by LadyRavena
Summary: What would happen if the cloning process took a wrong turn? The wrong genes given to a clone of a Grand Admiral? A story of the changes and trials that clone must face before taking their rightful place at the head of the Empire of the Hand.
1. Chapter 1

**Mismatched to Make the Whole**

By Ladyravena

Author's Note: This idea came from the story by JadedFire called "The Clone," which at the beginning of my posting, was a WIP. I enjoyed the idea of it, so decided to do my own take of it. I chose not to use any of JadedFire's original characters, instead placing it completely in my own universe.

Waltz is mine, as well Eri'dantae, the rest Lucas owns. Standard disclaimers apply throughout. The work is complete, and is six parts long. Updated once per week until done...

Please Read and Review. The big button down there.

Part One

Awakening

_So cold.... _

Awakening to shivers as the waters recede down the drains; the hum of the lid's mechanisms pulling back the transparasteel. The clank of droids against the sides, the vibrations matching shivers.

Eyes open slowly to command, focus completely off-kilter. Colours swirl into each other; a nightmare landscape, the familiar turned threatening by simple synaptic misfire. Breathing deeply, eyes narrowing, trying to focus on something...

Something hisses beside sensitive ears, startlingly loud to newly awakened senses. Another hiss and fire in the veins...medicines, the mind remembered. Vitamins, stimulants, things to combat the clone sickness at awakening....

_I am that clone_...realization like a tidal wave, cleansing the mind of confusion.

The droids move in and out of vision, slowly sharpening in sightlines.

Metallic arms lift a weakened body free of the last of the clinging fluid...worse than a bacta tank session, helpless in the cold, damp air to even push back tendrils of hair. Warmth in a towel wrapped around nakedness, replaced too soon by a robe that dropped to the floor..._have I lost weight in the tanks again..._questions beginning to form, the mind as quick as ever.

Settled down by med droids onto softness...the sofa ready to lounge on for tired nights after planning. Eyelids drooping down, body demanding rest and recovery after its ordeal, but the mind is running in circles...something is off, something that needs to be acknowledged. Frown moving muscles in an unlined face, eyes open once more, the body's demands forgotten.

Stumbling up on small feet, the legs remember walking only by hearsay. Slowly, leaning on droids and furniture alike, the legs make it to the door of the facilities. The shoulders lean on the door, pushing it open with gravity. The hands and arms brace the shivering body against the sink...too thin hands, finger long and delicate. Young hands, the mind reasons...

The head slowly lifts to the mirror that hangs in front of the eyes. The eyes do their part, bringing the close object and the reflection contained within into sharp focus, the background the only thing remaining blurry.

A young woman stared back at her, damp hair clinging to her face, blue skin pale in the harsh light.

A young woman stared back at her, damp hair clinging to _her _face...

A young woman stared back at _her_...

_A young woman..._


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

Discovery

The droid was certainly having a time trying to balance its load and still open the service hatch. Admiral Voss Parck, grey hair giving way to white, and hands gnarled with age and the sun of thousands of worlds, idly watched its antics. This late at night he had a bit of free time, as he didn't sleep nearly as much as he should.

The droid was barely able to fit into the service hatch in the wall without a tray full of nutrient bars, shakes and water packs clamped to its lid. Finally its servos realized that this was not going to work, sending the droid down the hall toward the admiral. Completely amused by the noises of frustration that it was making, Voss followed it for a few feet until it opened the corridor's only door into the service access routes.

_Now why would it not use the regular corridors with the slidewalks? And for that matter, why not use the kitchen droids that are designed to carry food, not one of the old data converting modules? _Ducking into the corridor, he quickened his pace to keep up with the droid, who seemed to have no problem with him following it. Wherever it was trying to go, it wasn't concerned with a tail, or with speed. It was making its way leisurely down in the base of the mountain, until the neatly arranged corridor transformed into barren rock with power cables strung above his head. Voss could feel the hum of the eastern generator in the distance, and knew that these lines did not attach to any of the base's power generators.

In fact, he mused as he stopped to look closer at the power lines, they hadn't used that type of line cable for over 10 years...visions of another area where fusion power had been recently used and destroyed flashed through his mind. Could there have been another chamber like that one, in the most unused part of the base, where even the maintenance droids didn't roam?

Hurrying to catch up with the impromptu waiter, he nearly ran over another set of droids collecting a discharged Conner net in the next corridor. A flash of electricity caught his attention as the waiter droid was nearly fried as the second net came crashing down. Parck made sure to get across both rooms before the traps could be set again. At his age, that much charge would send him back to Corellia in a pretty box as a decomposing piece of toast.

An old fashioned door in the wall was where his little guide was waiting, chirping at the access panel. A small section of the door opened, with enough width to allow for the tray and the droid at the same time. With a toot of satisfaction, it disappeared into the room.

Parck studied the door's panel, shaking his head slightly. There wasn't even a number pad, only a scanner for hand and retina patterns. They hadn't been used in the base proper for over 12 years, meaning that whatever was hidden away had been hiding a very long time. The scanner wasn't even hooked up to the main databanks. Only those prints that had been programmed into it would be recognized.

He'd been in command of the base then, along with Dagon Niriz and Grand Admiral Thrawn. Dagon had perished some 5 years back in action against the Far Outsider's first push into this galaxy, and Thrawn hadn't been seen alive in just over 10 years...the image of the decomposing clone in the waterways rose to the forefront of his mind, to be shoved aside as he raised his hand to the scanner.

After a moment, the red light ran over his palm, ran again back up to his face, taking in the patterns the scanner needed. With a quiet beep and snick, the door swung open on silent hinges.

Stepping inside, conscious of the lack of his blaster at his side, he slowly took in the details of the room. An empty clone cylinder rested against the far wall, the cover drawn smoothly back by heavy machinery. The smooth tiled floor that ran both under Voss's feet and the cylinder gave way to a wide throw rug in the middle of the room. One heavy lifter droid fussed with the sofa and chair set that it was obviously setting up. The smaller command chair, surrounded by library consoles and repeater display was unused, and still covered in the plastic sheet that had protected the rest of the furniture and crates.

One of which, Voss could see as he stepped forward, was half unpacked. The hint of white drew him even closer, even as his mind warned against getting hopes too high. He knelt down on one stiff knee beside the crate, and lifted out the uniform jacket that had been placed inside, just under an empty holster for a small sidearm. The white uniform of the highest rank that the Imperial Navy gave to any officer...

A slight click froze him. Slowly he set the uniform down on the box's lid, even slower stood back up, privately thanking his knees for not giving out. He raised his eyes to meet the narrowed eyes of a Chiss, blaster raised at shoulder height. The alien stood within the shadowed recess of the far wall; only the glow of the eyes gave away their position. After a moment, the eyes seemed to widen, the head tilted to one side as a soft voice whispered, "Voss?"

Parck nodded, suddenly unsure whether to respond or not. The eyes were below his own, he noticed...meaning that this individual wasn't the old friend he so hoped to find. They belonged to someone maybe 5 foot tall, not the towering 6 foot 4 that the Chiss admiral had been...perhaps he was only a child still...not yet fully grown?

"Has it really been that long, Voss?" The voice was very soft, Parck noted, and unsure of itself. The blaster was lowered and off to one side now, but still held in an iron grip.

"I've been in command nearly 20 years," he said, keeping his voice calm and soothing. "It takes its toll on youthful looks."

"We were never that young, Voss." The old line was eerily familiar, said too many times after cadet reviews, reminiscing over fine dining. But the voice was unsure of itself, and of what it was trying to say. As if it had to access the appropriate memory, and not simply recall fondly old times. As it mulled over the name, the blaster was shaking slightly, still pointed away from the human.

The figure moved toward Parck slowly, measuring steps out with hesitancy that he would expect from a newly awoken clone. Still getting use to the body, no doubt

—without a sound the figure started to crumble to the floor. Lurching forward, jumping the small two-step incline, he caught the Chiss just before he fell, ignoring the blaster falling to the floor, letting the other's weight lean on him while he snaked an arm around the slim waist.

Which was when he realized, all the pieces finally together, that he held a young lady in his arms, not a male at all.

* * *

She was laid out on the sofa, a light blanket tucked around her shivering form. Despite the heat that radiated from her skin, the young Chiss was shivering as if it were the middle of winter. Voss Parck had limited medical knowledge and less when it came to species other than his own, but he recognized a high fever when he saw one. Slipping a corner of the blanket over unclad blue feet, he reached the console of library computers, flicked through a few consoles before finding the comm unit. The new system was logically laid out, unlike this one...

"Medical, Dr. Levine."

Quickly tuning the set to broadcast only to his direction and lowering the volume, he said, "I need you down in the north-east tower, near the food processing section. Can you get a fix on this signal to find your way?"

"Not on the map, are you, Admiral? Leave the comm transmitting, sir, and I will be down with a team--"

"No, just you, doctor. Bring your kit and a hover chair."

There was a pause on the other side of the line, then, "Aye, sir."

Nodding to himself, he looked over the edge of the sofa, sighing. Why would there be a female Chiss with some or all of the Admiral's memories? The uniform baffled him, as he looked it over, checking it for accuracy. The ranking bars were there, all perfectly real. The side arm was the same type that Thrawn had kept hidden on his person up until his death. The entire room was made out in a smaller scale to the clone's chambers that Skywalker and Jade had flooded. So, was she to have been an experiment, a test run of another stormtropper/tactician that Grodin Pierce had so failed at being? ...or perhaps a relative, who was also given his memories as well as her original's own...

Parck shook his head, leaving the uniform in the crate. Or was it possible that there had been a dreadful mistake, something not accounted for in the cloning process that would explain why the genes taken from a healthy, normal male would produce a female clone?

Crouching by the sofa, he looked closer at her features, peaceful in unconsciousness. The hair, longer than normal, was the same shade of shining blue black. The small mole, just to the inside of the left ear was the same, as were the small birthmarks hidden in the eyebrows. The eyebrows had been burned off in a ship fire just after he had been promoted to Captain, and had been visible for a few days until the hair had grown back, thankfully not white as the doctor's had predicted.

A small beep from the console drew his attention back into the present. "Admiral Parck?" a tiny voice said.

Leaning over the console, he closed the channel and made his way back toward the main doors. Lambent eyes followed his back from behind heavy eyelids, opening wide when another, unfamiliar voice answered the once-Captain.

"This way, Doctor," Voss was saying, leading the way back into the main chamber.

"What is the problem, Ad-?"

"Down!" he barked, pushing her to the floor as a second shot rang above their heads. The young clone was back on her feet, discarded blaster once more held in a steel grip. "The doctor is here on my orders," Voss said, standing up slowly and keeping his voice level. "The clone-sickness is still affecting you. I can't help you on my own."

She watched him with narrow eyes, not lowering the blaster. Taking a slow step forward, he repeated himself. Another step and the barrel was barely within reach. Risking one more, he reached up, wrapping steady fingers around the barrel and pushed down slightly. "She's not here to harm you, only help. I'm no doctor, you know that. I can't even tell you what all is wrong. Let her help."

Her focus remained on him as he pushed the blaster farther down, and barely flickered when he removed the weapon completely from her hands and tucked it away. Her gaze never moved from his until her knees gave way and she collapsed against Parck, bare energy reserves gone once more. From over her shoulder Voss matched gazes with Doctor Levine. "This is why I called you down here, without the orderlies."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

Recovery

Parck slowly entered the med bay, keeping his footfalls light. The original had always been a light sleeper; she would be no different, he believed. Reaching a hand out, ignoring the liver spots and gnarled fingers, he pulled the privacy curtain apart.

Doctor Levine, analysing readouts from across the bed, looked at him. "She's out cold, Admiral. I gave her a light sedative until the clone sickness wears off. No point in her panicking again. She's got too good an aim."

Voss smiled forlornly. "Of all the mistakes they could have made..." he murmured. Brushing a stray lock of hair away from her eyes, he asked, "How old is she?"

"About 21, judging by the last molars; they are still at an early stage of compaction. He had to have them removed at 25 when they ruptured. Then again, with the jaw being smaller.... We simply don't have a complete comparison." She went back to taking down readings, _tsk_ing at every third one.

"How much-"

Doctor Levine shook her head. "There's no way to tell, until we get her stabilized and rested. For now, rest and fluids are for the best. Her blood count is low, vitamin levels are playing ping ball, and she's lucky not to be in a calcium coma."

At Parck's raised eyebrows, she nodded towards her office. Following behind the aging Admiral, she closed the lights in the patient's room down to bare minimum before entering her office. Sitting down on the office chair festooned with throw pillows, she motioned for him to sit. "Our early tests have shown that she is an interesting mix of altered genes and original DNA makeup. It seems that after the first clone had been fully grown, the doctors in charge noticed in follow-up testing that there were errors in the genetic coding. While not a problem for the clone itself, the defects would breed dominate in any children."

"What type of problems?"

"Severe deformities in the DNA strands were found, leading to miscarriage in almost all simulations. Even those that didn't miscarry would result in stillbirths. The strings were extremely damaged in the cloning process, with inaccurate 'patch-work' done to correct the damage at the first generation growth, never thinking that the man might want to continue the line later in life."

Voss thought that over for a time, nodding as things began to click in the backs of his mind. "So the back-up clone was an attempt to correct the problems," he ventured. "But why so many patches? Why not-?"

"They didn't know the extent until just prior to Bilbringi. He was scheduled to give more complete samples on his return to base. Perhaps even a bone marrow sample. So the cloning team, using the remaining tissue samples for the first clone, went down to the chromosome level, split the pairs, and found that most of the damages had been done to the Y strands. So they worked on fixing the few damaged X chromosomes and using them as a template to guide their work on the Y's." She shook her head. "But Chiss DNA is very different than humans. Different chromosomes control different aspects, and they applied **human** standards. So, when they paired everything back up, the Y chromosomes were weakened to the point of being recessive. In some cases, it was equivalent to having duplicate X chromosomes. Ergo, we get a 'corrected' clone who is 6 inches shorter, and has a voice two octaves higher."

"And who has all of the Grand Admiral's memories, and thinks of herself as him." He leaned back in his chair, passing a weary hand over his face. "And realizes that she isn't him, but remembers everything as a male."

"Indeed," she agreed. "I'd be a little trigger happy, too."

* * *

Voss sat on the edge of the bed, watching the young Chiss slowly waking. Turning slightly on the pillow, her face turned toward his before the lambent eyes slowly opened. They still weren't focusing properly, at least not completely. "Voss?" she whispered.

"Good morning," he said, smiling.

She looked around the small room, before returning to Parck's face. "Where am I?"

"You're on the base on Nirauan; more specifically, the officer's med-center. How are you feeling?"

She sniffed slightly, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Like a bantha is trying to ram its way out of my skull, that's how, Voss. But they told m-him," she corrected quickly, "that that was to be expected. How long have I been here?" _How long have I been alive? _her eyes asked.

"It's been four days since you tried to shoot my chief medical officer. She thinks you've been there for a day or two before that." Watching the young woman carefully, he asked, "What do you remember before I found you?"

She closed her eyes down to slits, thinking hard past the drugs still in her system. "I remember the droids lifting me out of the tank, of being cold, and hungry, and mostly blind. Do you realize how difficult it is to dress, half blind, in ill-fitting clothes?"

Voss smiled faintly, with a slight frown making an appearance.

"I'm not about to drop dead just yet, so kindly stop acting like you are at my deathbed," she snapped, voice strong. She paid for her outburst a moment later when she found it hard to draw breath. Regaining it, she turned back to vaguely see the frown disappear from Voss's face. "I thought that I was supposed to be the second clone to awaken. Where is the first?"

Parck drew a deep breath, knowing that this question would come up, hoping that it would be later. "I think--"

"—_now is not the best time?_ Parck, don't pull that nonsense with me. You know better. What's happened?" Her hand reached out from under the blankets, studded with IV lines and bandages, trying to reach his.

He took it gently in his own, mindful of the bruises. "We didn't know about the other clone, you realize. So, when the lake broke through the lower levels due to unforeseen events, we didn't realize that there was anything of value that could be harmed. When we drained the levels, we found the corpse in the chambers. Our engineers believe that it was killed when water got into the generators, blowing out the cylinder and all the life support equipment." He squeezed her hand gently. "There was nothing we could do."

She stared unseeingly at him, trying to picture the events. "Unforeseen events?" she repeated softly. "Such as what?"

"Rising water levels, structural damages, poor construction of that level," he hedged. In fact, he was pretty sure that Skywalker and Jade had had something to do with it. Some damage could be traced to a lightsaber, but not all. The clone itself had been undamaged. Surely, the Jedi would not have harmed him, but Jade... there was resentment there of her treatment by Thrawn in Karrde's detention. His teams couldn't be certain of what had transpired, so he would not worry her just yet.

She nodded, eyes drifting closed. They opened slightly when he placed her hand back under the blankets and tucked the sheets back around her. They drifted closed again as he turned down the lights and left her be.

* * *

The young clone's eyes snapped open as the human entered the med bay room. The young lady in vaguely military garb smiled at the bedridden Chiss. "Hey!" she chirped, voice quick and high. She would have waved, save for the box under one arm and the portable console in the other.

The Chiss said nothing, merely watching the human.

This didn't seem to disturb the other. "Voss sent me down," she explained. "He mentioned, well, muttered under his breath, really, that you were going stir crazy down here, driving the staff up the wall. Can't say I blame you, I always hate being in bed all day." She placed the console down on the bedside table and the box on the floor by the wire box on the wall by the light switch.

She smiled at the bedridden Chiss, trying to get a smile back. Sighing at the lack of response, she continued. "I'm Waltz, by the way, Admiral Parck's girl-all-day." She blinked a few times, and corrected herself. "Girl-all-the-time, really; more than his assistant, but I don't run the whole show, not officially at any rate."

Her fingers had been working as fast as her chatter, opening the connections on the data-lines, attaching the hubs to allow access from the console. The whole wiring job would be hidden back in the wall, so the staff wouldn't have to worry about tripping over the cords. Wireless access within twenty feet of the hub in the wall, it was the perfect thing for someone who wouldn't be moving around too much anyway.

Turning to the Chiss, she continued, turning on the console and set up all the required passwords. "Now, Levine has set up firewalls around the military reports, so you won't have access to that section, but the whole library is open-access. The older reports aren't classified, so you should be able to get at them, but I can't say for certain."

"Thank you," the young clone said, raising a hand to stem the flow of chatter.

Waltz beamed. "Not a problem. Just call Levine if there are any problems, and she'll call me down here right away. I've left it all logged in, so you don't have to worry about passwords and such."

"I'm sure I will be fine, Ms. Waltz--"

"Just Waltz," she said, smiling and shoving everything back in her box, closing it firmly, despite the ends poking out. "I don't like titles, clutters up the conversation. Besides, I'm not really in the military, so I don't get to salute or anything--"

"Indeed, not. I believe I should rest, now."

"Oh! Not a problem. Perhaps I could back and we could talk, you know, girl to girl--"

"Out!" the Chiss said sharply.

Waltz scurried out of the room, as the young clone slumped back against the pillow, exhausted by the chatter.

* * *

Waltz settled into her office, tipping one pile on her desk as she tried to drop into her chair. Sighing, she tucked the box of wires under another pile. A cleared throat brought her attention up to the open door.

"How did it go?" Admiral Parck asked, leaning on the frame, caf mug in hand.

"She snapped at me to get out."

He nodded. "How long?"

"About 6 minutes."

Voss smiled. "Longer than I expected. Good for her."

* * *

Dr. Levine swiped her id tag to open the large iron doors that looked like they should be guarding the outside entrances, rather than the disused offices of accounting and finance. The warren of offices, so close to medical's private wards, was originally only a temporary fixture on the base. After several years of 'temporarily' being there, the managers had finally bribed someone to get offices that were more appropriately sized, better ventilated and not constantly being disinfected and sterilized.

The plus of all this, Levine explained, walking the young clone throughout the rooms, was a private exercise area for the higher ranking officers and ambassadors, to gain their strength and mobility back in comfort.

Left alone, the young clone, who had only been up on her feet for a day and a half, wandered the plain rooms, looking over the desks that had been left behind. Library consoles in stand-by mode blinked at her glowing eyes, trying to catch her attention, with chairs pulled half way out of the desks to welcome her in. She ran too-thin hands along the walls, fingers just tracing the rough looking walls, finding it only a pattern on the wallpaper, not real granite protrusions.

Doors opened soundlessly, no chimes to announce the ghost that wandered the halls into more research areas, a recreation area with sofas and too soft recliners, and the small exercise room itself.

Small weights, nothing set over five kilos littered the shelves, quiet in the dim lighting. Most Chiss, when they could, would forgo bright lights, preferring the darkness, letting their eyes adjust themselves. Treadmills and a stationary manual scooter stood in one corner, grouped together for conversation, while the user move nowhere at their chosen speed.

Interest and strength waning, the young clone made her way back to the sofa area, inspecting the shelves carefully. Several holozines, outdated but sometimes a welcome distraction, were ignored, as well as fictional holonovels.

Nothing seemed to catch the flagging interest, until the fingers wandered over an antique music hologram. Fingers and eyes moving quickly, she quickly had the main menu up, selections whizzing by. Finally choosing one, setting it to repeat after it had finished, she curled into the sofa's soft cushions, eyes narrow slits that soon closed.

* * *

Levine turned her monitor screen off, and leaned back in her chair. Looking over the last of the reports on the young clone, she closed the files in the system, and signed the release from med bay forms, forwarding the paperwork to Voss.


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four

Adaptations

"I'm surprised that she let me out of sickbay this early," the young clone confessed as they traveled up to the officer's apartments. Leaning back and forth slightly between feet, a habit that she had acquired in the last week, she seemed calm enough for being exposed to a new part of the base. "We used to have to solve that colour cube of the doctor's."

Voss smiled, keeping his eyes on the wall of the lift. "You know that the cube was fixed, don't you?" At the other's sudden stillness, he laughed a little and continued. "The good doctor had two; one that was defective and one that was solvable. When she didn't want a patient leaving-"

"She gave out the malfunctioning cube?" she sputtered. "The doctor got me ...him... for over an hour with that thing."

Voss nodded, gesturing her through the opening door. "You certainly weren't the first, or the only one who was conned. The doctor only wanted to prove a point."

The clone sniffed, muttering something unflattering about Levine.

Coming from someone who looked like they should be modelling business attire, the commoner curses were amusing, Voss thought. Leading the way down the darkened hallway, he pointed out various rooms as they went, including where his door was, and the door chimes and handles. Reaching the suite that she was going to be claiming, he motioned her forward. "After you," he said, inclining his head. "After all, this is _your_ new suite."

"Better ventilated, I'm sure," she murmured, moving through the door and stepping down into the drop-down of the conversation area. Comfortable furniture and practical shelves awaited personalization. The master bedroom, complete with large double bed, was mostly ignored in her inspection, save to put down her long coat across the bedside chair.

"Do let me know if anything is amiss. I tried to have everything set up in a manner similar to before, but the space wasn't quite the same. I improvised when needed."

"No, it's alright, Voss. Quite similar, indeed." She came back over to him, eyes distant. With effort, she came back to the present, smiling slightly. "Much better than the med bay's accommodations. Thank you."

The sympathy in the old admiral's eyes was closer to the surface than she would have liked, but he simply nodded, and wished her goodnight, leaving her to her old ghosts and the night air drifting into the room.

* * *

Waltz, Voss's assistant, was so named for her first time working with Parck.

Waltz had applied to work with the office staff, and was waiting for the interviewer to finish with another candidate. Over the reception's intercom, an old Alderaanian waltz was playing, background noise for the tedious work of a military base office. Waltz had been humming it, then started moving slightly to the tune, and when she was called in to meet Voss, had executed several of the more difficult steps to meet him. He hired her on the spot, and refused to call her anything else.

When the young clone had been released from sickbay, Voss had formally introduced them, explaining that Waltz was a good listener, chattered randomly only when nervous, and could be counted on to keep her secrets close.

The young clone, looking in to the young woman's office, and noticed that 'organized' was not something that could be used to describe her. She was trying to slide a pad out from under the stack when the Chiss cleared her throat.

"Is the admiral here?"

Waltz shook her head. "Sorry, he's at a meeting right now. Back in a few hours, I think." She finally managed to get the pad out, both hands out to brace the swaying pile. "Stay...stay..." she muttered. When it seemed to obey, she looked up. "Can I get you anything? Caf? Food?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

There was an awkward pause. Waltz seemed to be restraining herself from talking too much this time. "Did you find your apartments alright? I wasn't sure about the coloring of the room's accessories."

"It's fine, thank you."

A beeping noise came from the comm. "Waltz here."

"_Levine. Is she with you?"_

No need to ask who 'she' was. "Yes, Doctor Levine. We were just chatting."

"_Good. Can you send her down to the med bay? I need a few more blood samples. Levine out."_

Waltz grimaced, turning off the comm. "Would you like me to go down with you? Give her someone else to poke?"

She shook her head, touched by the offer. "No, better stay here where it is safe." One pile, leaning dangerously to begin with, slowly began to sway. The two women watched in fascination as it slowly cascaded to the floor. "Well, mostly safe," the Chiss amended.

"Hmm," Waltz agreed. "Look," she said, meeting the clone's gaze, "I grew up with four brothers, my father, his two brothers and their three boys. The only woman around before I was fifteen was the maid, who was in her sixties. I know that there are some things that you may not really want to ask Levine, or one of the nurses. If you want, I would be happy to answer them, or at least point you in the right direction. I played the 'why do girls...' game with the boys all my growing up years; I can probably give you an answer that makes better sense than the encyclopaedia can."

The young Chiss swallowed, and nodded. "Thank you," she whispered, before fleeing the office.

* * *

The young clone sat stiffly on the examination room bed, spine straighter than a ruler and chest out slightly, almost at military attention, despite the hospital gown. As Levine finished taking the last of her blood samples, she said, casually, "Posture is very important in the military, isn't it?"

The Chiss nodded, mind elsewhere.

"You realize that male and female postures are different, I presume?" she asked, knowing the answer to be 'no'. She capped off the last vial, turned to leave, tossing over her shoulder, "Meet me in my office when you're dressed."

Levine knew she had to be careful in discussing this; despite all appearances, the young clone wasn't making nearly as much progress adapting to her new body as they expected. Stubborn to the last, that iron will that would not accept defeat in war wasn't allowing her to accept her new limitations, and restrictions that being female in a male-oriented society placed on her. Pointing out the differences in physiology was one thing and necessary once her body was fully stabilized. Pointing out psychological differences could get interesting.

Once in the room, Levine closed both the door and her curtains to the halls. Sitting on the edge of her desk, trying to convey that this wasn't a formal discussion, just a chat, she opened with, "I've noticed you've started to stand more at attention now. Leg muscles strengthening, are they?"

A silence nod was all the comment that she got.

"Shoulders aren't as stiff, either? I know that there is a predisposition to frozen shoulders in the family lines."

A small shake of her head, with a quizzically raised eyebrow was the only reply, along with a tilt to the head.

So much for subtle conversation, Levine mused. _Fine, I'll go straight at it. _"I wanted to mention something about posture differences. Like when you stand at ease; men's feet are naturally farther apart than a woman's. Do they still measure by the width of the shoulders?"

A nod, eyes slightly narrowed.

"Good, just remember that your shoulders aren't as wide anymore." Levine slid off the desk, and moved around behind it. The quiet chat method, something she admitted she wasn't good at anyway, hadn't worked, so she tried the professional angle, shuffling datapads and stylus. "I'd watch for throwing your chest wall out too much; pride in your service is good, but not too much. Also, for sitting down, keep ankles together. Men can lean forward between bent knees in their chairs, it makes them look studious; women look like they are flirting. I doubt you want to be seen as flirting with your subordinates?"

A shake of the head, eyes even narrower, was all she received in reply.

"Watch for hand gestures as well. Think of what a depraved male would think it looked like; for example, gestures where it looks like you are weighing options in front of your chest. To some, it would like you are offering yourself for inspection of weight and size." She glanced up to see a slight blush in the pale skin on the cheekbones. _Good,_ she thought, _that hit home._

"Just keep your mind open, and you'll be fine." As the young Chiss took that as her cue to flee, the doctor tossed out, "And I wouldn't stand too close to the edge of the crew pits, either."

* * *

The workout room was dimly lit and empty when she arrived, dressed in tight-fitting workout attire. The instructions in the page had been specific on what to wear and where to be. Hair tied back in a tight ponytail, the tip just tickling her shoulder, and wearing fitted athletic shoes, she was asked to have an open mind to today's lesson.

The lights switched on to half-intensity, to a Chiss's eyes just bright enough to see everything clearly, but to a human, barely lit and full of shadows. Standing at the entrance was a tall Chiss, lean and wiry, with two wooded staves in hand, along with several sabres in sheaths. Red eyes caught hers, and he bowed respectfully. She returned it with a half nod, not sure of his purpose in being here, but not intending to flee, either.

She'd only been around a handful of people in the time since she awoke, doctors for the most part. There were a few exceptions; Voss Parck was a frequent guest, as was his assistant, Waltz. Other than those few people, the young Chiss had been kept carefully sequestered from the rest of the base, for her sake. Her first time seeing the nurse had been enough to scare her into almost hanging herself by her own IV lines.

She'd only been in sickbay for a night or two when she awoke to feel someone changing the IV lines. Groggily, she had turned toward them, expecting to see Levine's tired face. The young male Chiss was not what she had been expecting, or wanted to see. After blinking a few times, trying to make foggy brain cells work, she'd realized that she didn't know this person, and panicked, trying to run away, and get up from under the covers and pull the lines out all at once. Half a minute later, the lines seem to tangle around her, and between the nurse, Dr. Levine and two orderlies, they managed to knock her out, and untangle her. She had awoken a few hours later from the sedative, and been formally introduced to the team of health care workers that would be around the ward, Levine muttering something about being trigger happy.

She was more in control of her actions now, but still backed up a step or two when the stranger entered the room. He made no move to get closer to her, but moved around the edges of the room, leaning the staves against the wall, leaving the sabres on the low table that held gloves and other odds. Moving quietly, he began to pull several of the mats out from their holding rack against the far wall. He made a pile of them, seeming to glance in her direction, decided against taking them to the middle of the room. Sitting down cross legged in front of the pile, he closed his eyes.

Raising an eyebrow, she watched him for a time, waiting to see how long he was going to humour the skittish Chiss by not moving. Patience was something the young Chiss had in abundance; one learned it quickly in the military. So, standing at ease, consciously moving her legs a bit closer together than her predecessor would have, she decided to wait him out.

Parck broke the contest 10 minutes later, walking into the room and waving the lights on a bit brighter for his failing eyesight. "Good, you're both here," he said, striding up to her and smiling. "May I introduce our martial arts instructor, Eri'dantae?"

Eri'dantae stood, bowed again to her and the admiral.

"Let's step over her, my dear, so he can set up." Leading her off to the side, he leaned against the table, looking over the various weapons. "Good, he brought the staves," Parck murmured to himself.

"I don't recall having anyone by that name here before," she said quietly, watching the martial arts instructor laying out the mats and attaching them to the floor.

"Signed on with us about 4 years ago now," Voss said, watching her. "He's quite good, which makes me wonder why he was never merit-adopted into one of the main families. But he is unaligned, and was born a commoner. Decorated numerous times for his skills, and sought by several houses to teach their young. He wanted to train our soldiers in hand to hand combat, and so he came."

"Never aligned, yet sought out for his teachings by the ruling families?" she mused. Shaking her head, she watched as he began to warm up, moving through classic forms to more free form movements. "And why am I here, Voss, other than a refresher course?"

Voss frowned. "I believe Doctor Levine spoke to you about that. Female and male strengths lie in different areas. You need to be--"

"—prepared for anything that may come," she finished sharply. "Things aren't that different, Admiral." Moving away from Voss, keeping her back to him, she didn't notice his hands going up in exasperation, or the look that passed between the two men.

Eri'dantae stood at ease in front of her, eyes traveling over her in a casual once over. Admiral Parck had completely briefed him on the situation. _She is simply refusing to come to grips with her new form_, he had growled. _Any time we try to talk to her about it, she either snaps at us or goes quiet until the subject is changed. So, if you can figure out a way to pummel that reality into her head, then you go with it with both Levine's and my blessings._ He planned on three levels. First, by strength; second, by flexibility; third, by shock treatment. He hoped that it won't come to the last.

"I am here to first assess your fitness level since awakening. Your goal: pin me to the mat. Your method: anything that you can think of. Your weapons: hand to hand only. Understood?"

She nodded once, stepping back and setting herself in a classic ready-position.

He mirrored her stance, nodded once. "Begin."

She feinted twice, gauging his reaction time. Each time, he made sure to be slower than normal, playing easy to get, luring her into a false sense of security. Any worthy opponent she would face would be getting more information out of her right now just by watching her than she would expect. Tensing on her feet, leg muscles getting ready for their first real lunge and tackle, she moved forward with as much power as her body could provide—

--to land smartly on her back, with Eri'dantae's arm across her throat, and her wrists held together by one of his hands. Her pride noted he wasn't even breathing hard.

"I will ensure that the training room will be available for you," Voss said as he left the room, closing the large doors behind him with an audible thud.

* * *

The staves made a hollow _thwack_ when they connected with flesh. Irritably rubbing her thigh, she growled under her breath at her instructor. "Other than causing bruises, what is the point to this particular endeavour?"

The day had begun lousy, and had only deteriorated from there. After the morning brunch with Voss, where she had been questioned by the aging admiral on her training sessions, she had been lectured by the doctor on female anatomy and reproduction. Levine was concerned that she hadn't started her cycles as yet. The young clone was certainly old enough to be having children, she reasoned, so it must have something to do with the cloning process. All tests showed that she was physically capable of having children, and was built quite well, as the old wise women would say, "with good wide hips for birthing and firm breasts for feeding."

And now this: Eri'dantae had simply handed her a staff, settled into first position and had attacked her. No explanations, no instructions.

Now he merely ignored the question, and resumed first position.

She snarled, and settled back into the first position, rearranging her hands a little closer on the wood. She nodded, and he lunged again, using the length of his arms to bring the staff in close to her head, without leaving his own head open to her own limited reach. The strike was slow, and unwieldy, and left a good section of his body open to attack.

With a start, she realized it was the same attack that he had made the last few times. The same pattern, and she had made the same attack each time, reaching forward to try for a head shot anyway, despite needing about 5 inches to complete the move.

Ducking under the swing, she brought the staff down low, aiming for the knees. Knocking them together, she gave a twist...and brought Eri'dantae crashing to the mat. She bowed, and resumed first position.

Looking up at her, Eri'dantae allowed himself a slight smile, and nodded once to her. Slowly rising to his feet, he matched her. Again, he presented the same opening swing. She took the same path – only to find his staff in the way. He swung wide, again moving for her head in a wide arch. She tried the knees again; he blocked her.

Obviously, he wanted her to come up with a different path. Intrigued, she tried to sweep his ankles together; he jumped the staff and kicked up at her. Angling the staff in her hands, she tried to jab him hard in the stomach...and came up short in reach. He jumped back a bit anyway, swinging wide for her head on his return trip.

Frustration began to play at her nerves. Never a patient student, she went back to her original line of attack, trying to get at his head. The angles were familiar, she thought, as he blocked and came again. Again, the same attack, again the niggling feeling of familiarity.

On impulse, she twisted her staff under his, using the momentum that he had provided to twist his staff wide of his mark. His whole body open to an attack, she stepped forward in a bind, tip of her staff at his throat.

He dropped the staff and bowed to her. Bowing back, she stepped back, tracing the memory down in her mind...

_...the enemy brought the branch around to the Commander's head, trying to bludgeon him into the ground. Never would the thin blade in the Chiss's hand withstand the impact of a direct assault from that piece of overgrown firewood. So, twisting around the branch, stepping close to the throat, knife from sleeve driving between the ribs, an easy stab to the heart..._

She shook her head, suddenly angry at the memory and at everything around her. It was a stab that she would be in no position to repeat. Due to her ... _condition_...she would have to go for an underhand plunge, which would only hit the heart if the blade was long enough. She wouldn't be able to reach the eyes, she was just too small. Anything else would be unlikely to disable an opponent quickly enough in a fight, or would leave her open to a last attack by the attacker. As everything else was; it was all so much harder to do, to learn, to adjust to. The frustration tingled down her nerves, into her arms, and she lunged blindly at her instructor...who floored her with the same twist that she had used not minutes ago, to her pride, to defeat him.

She snarled, hoisted herself back to her feet and stalked out of the room, dropping the staff before leaving the mat.

* * *

He slammed her down onto the mat, his own weight adding to the jar that left her gasping for breath. This was her fifth time in as many minutes, and he was getting sick of her refusal to use any of the previous 2 weeks lessons. She still fought as if she were 70 pounds heavier and 7 inches taller, using habits that the original had had to learn to deal with his height.

Snarling inside, Eri'dantae thought, _Fine. You brought this on yourself._

He shifted his grip on her wrists, holding them high above her head on the mat. Normally letting her go after a moment or two, he instead held on, tightening his grip.

"I yield," she growled, trying to get free.

He shook his head. "I don't."

Her eyes widened a bit, but then narrowed to angry slits. Twisting to the side, she tried to flip him off her. Her shoulders barely left the mat before he moved his other hand to her throat. "I don't," he repeated.

Snarling, she tried to get her foot between them, to push him off her. He sneered down at her, dropping more of his body weight onto her. The moment it took for her to realize she couldn't get him off her, she quieted down. "The point to this exercise, Instructor?" she said, voice taut with anger.

He ignored her, shifting his weight back up, easing a little on her throat. She took the chance he was giving her ... but not in the way she'd been taught. No use of teeth, no screaming, no kicking at sensitive spots that she _could_ reach. Nothing a woman would do if she were in danger from an enemy male.

"What is stopping me right now?" he said, voice calm, and pinned her again to the mat.

She stilled. "Stopping you?"

He nodded, letting a leer creep over his face. "Stopping me from being rewarded for all my hard work?"

She frowned. "Parck isn't--"

He hissed in her ear, "—here right now. So what is stopping me from taking a little extra compensation?"

She understood what the words meant, but not the meaning behind them. "I am not the person--"

"You are _exactly_ the female that I need to see. See all of you."

She still wasn't letting herself see the meaning. Eri'dantae shook his head a little, saddened ...but fully resolved to this course of action. He took his free hand, started stroking the side of her face with the back of his knuckles, very softly. Bruising wasn't the goal here.

Her eyes began to widen despite her self control. "You are only to be training--"

In one swift moment, he had one leg between hers, forcing her knees apart. "What is stopping me from taking you right now? There are no guards, no holocams running, no one expecting either of us out of this room for hours. I have full permission to do anything I want to teach you. What is stopping me?" he finished, watching her finally comprehend what he was saying.

Eyes wide, she shook her head, breathing running ragged. He turned his hand to cup her face, and tried to continue.

She suddenly brought her one trapped leg up between his. Simultaneously biting down on the hand that held her face, she wrenched herself out from under him, aiming one kick at his head, before bolting from the room.

He rolled into a sitting position, glad of the armour he had chosen to wear underneath his clothing. Pulling out a comlink, he said, "Let her run, sir. Leave her to me to finish this."

* * *

Eri'dantae moved quietly throughout the base, testing doors and likely hiding spots as he went. Knowing the base as well as he did, he avoided the newer sections, as well as highly populated areas; he doubted she would take flight in the literal sense, and the outdoors were still too dark and forbidding for anyone to play hide and seek. Even the Admiral had rarely left the safety of the base.

So his training told him to go downwards, to the original architecture. The sublevels housed numerous departments, along with bunkers and storage facilities. Idly checking a few random rooms, he knew that she wouldn't have hidden amongst old computer equipment and excess data stores. She would go somewhere where _he_ would have found solace.

So it was, several levels down, Eri'dantae stood before a large, newly reinforced door that lead into a suite of rooms, beside and under the lake. Water damage, and lightsaber marks were repaired, the wall reinforced, and the waters drained. She would not have known what had happened down here; no one had told her. Only spoken of how tragic and wasteful the first clone's death had been. Not how it had ended; not who had ended it.

Moving fingers over the panel, he flinched from the blast of cold, wet air that burst through the entrance, chilling him deeply. The lights responded to the motion of his walk, destroying the shadows. He walked forward, allowing the door to close behind him. Silence greeted him.

Two scans told him that most of the room were empty. A few droids had arrived, cleaning the floor, but the lower level was empty of life forms. _Maybe I was wrong,_ he thought, eyebrows rising. _This would have been his first choice of hiding places. Full computer access to bury the memories, and a place to sleep that was quiet and hidden. You should have—_

His eye caught a flash of color as something off to the side and above him shifted, blue and white, bright against the dull grey of the walls. Moving back to the entrance, onto the overhanging walkway that circled one side of the room, he saw exactly what had caught his attention... and proved him right after all.

She was curled in a corner, knees drawn against her chest and head down on her kneecaps. Blue arms hugged her legs closer. Once or twice a shiver would reveal how cold she was. Her hair covered most of her face, completing the picture.

He sat down in front of her, just inside arms length. "You weren't planning on returning to our session today, I gather?" he asked, voice neutral.

She didn't respond.

"After looking over all of our meets, I would say our chief problem is that you think too much while in combat. Thinking is fine for the bridge of a _Destroyer_. Thinking will get you killed on the ground. That is why we need to train your body to think for you, and for you to trust your muscles to perform correctly."

She said nothing, but slowly looked up, one shaking hand pushing back the strands. He thought she was shaking because of the cold; the stone worked its way quickly up one's spine.

She was shaking to hold back tears, and she wasn't winning.

Something that had been resolute and firm inside him opened a bit. Lowering his voice, he said, "I didn't do this to hurt you. You need to know what you are getting into. No one on the battlefield is going to see a resurrected Grand Admiral; they will see a young woman who doesn't know how to protect herself. You will be easy pickings for the predators out there, and there are many. Remember: _In war, all males are a female's enemy._

"The others thought that you would come to understand this better with time; they let you have space and put up with your refusal to see the truth. They thought that you were still in shock, that the Grand Admiral's memories were too strong for you to overcome. Habits too long ingrained, and that nonsense. I've seen you accepting this life, until something reminds you that your predecessor was male, or you run in terror when you realize you were happy, as if you were betraying something with your acceptance.

"We are running out of time; the universe will not wait for you to figure out how to reverse the impossible. You know that this is permanent. You know that you have the choice to simply walk away, and become someone else. You chose not to, you chose the military. Now chose to grow up into the young female that you are, and move on with leading this empire. Or chose to get out now. I refuse to coddle you."

He leaned back, unaware of when in his diatribe he had placed his hand on her knee, or when he had leaned forward to stare at her more closely. He had never meant to attack all fronts at once, but once he started...well, there were reasons he wasn't in a Ruling Family, and tact was one of them. Slowly standing up, he looked down at her, still curled in the corner, only now watching his every move. He held out his hand, and said, "This isn't the proper way to cool down after a session, you realize. The air is too cold for muscles in here."

She looked at his hand, biting her bottom lip. She nodded faintly, placed one small hand in his, and let him hoist her to her feet.

* * *

Waltz sat at her desk surrounded by datapads and discs. Some of the piles were as tall as the desk monitor, and teetered dangerously. Humming to herself, she was sorting through one pile when she heard a faint cough.

The young clone stood just inside the doorway, frowning slightly.

"What can I help with?" Waltz asked.

She didn't quite meet Voss's assistant's eye. "Can ... can we talk after your shift, Waltz? In private?"

Waltz smiled, flicking off the screen. "I'm done now." Grabbing her sweater, she walked around the desk, flicking the main light off on her way. "I've some tea in my rooms."


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five

Acceptance

"Voss," the young clone asked him one night after one of her better sessions with Eri'dantae, "do you think that I should take on a new name?"

"Why would say that, my dear?" Sipping at the fruity drink, he remembered another time when they had conversed over dinner and brandy, over negotiations with a planet revolving below them. He still couldn't figure out what all had wandered into the brandy after all these years, and he refused on principle to look it up. Thrawn had known...

Dinner between the two of them was becoming routine, a welcome change for Voss, who usually dinned alone with work spread out in front of him, or at meetings with the leaders of various departments and ships. Settled down before the fireplace, tumblers of a light brandy in hand, she looked for a moment as if nothing had changed. If only it was a disguise, he thought wistfully, somehow done by the intelligence people, like the Jodo Kast charade, and would be removed just as soon as the part was done. The same looks, mannerisms and thoughts, gestures that were heartbreaking to see on her. She was trying so hard to live up to the memories that had been given to her, but she needed to become her own person.

"I can't exactly carry out his original plan, now can I?"A self deprecating smile turned to the fire, eyes glowing against the glowing embers. "To simply walk upstairs, declare I have returned and continue as if nothing had happened. Letting only the select few," here she dipped her head at him, "know the truth of my resurrection."

"Could raise questions, I agree. But changing names?"

She shrugged, sipping at her drink. "The 'nuruodo' is the honorific of the eighth house, which I am not a part of. No woman who answers to my description has been entered into the house records. By tradition, I suppose I would be considered equivalent to his widow, not him."

"If you were considered his widow..."

"I would be required to publically renounce my 'spouse's' rank and retreat into obscurity. Never to hold public office, or military rank."

Voss sighed. "One plan demolished," he muttered.

"Indeed. So, the last section is out. I believe that I would be able to keep the first marker; 'mitth' is a genetic marker, not house based. Genetically, I am still part of that family. The 'raw', however, is distinctly masculine."

Voss frowned. "Is there--"

"There is no feminine equivalent."

"Drat."

She smirked. "So you see my dilemma. I need something that is similar, as I still answer to his name, and something simple for the humans on base to pronounce." Her eyes closed to half slits as she spoke, the end of a long day finally catching up to her. "It is something to consider, at least. Think on it when you're supposed to be working on the Moff reports."

He smiled and tipped his empty tumbler at her. "A welcome distraction."

* * *

Voss entered the briefing room, shivering slightly from the open balcony door's draft. The early spring was still trying to frost over the hanger bay, and the sensor dishes had frozen solid overnight again. Old bones weren't up for the temperature changes. Grumbling under his breath, he crossed the room, and closed the massive doors with a thud.

"Cold, Admiral?" Waltz smiled. Snuggled deep in a thick sweater, she held two steaming 'caf mugs, one of which she placed in his hands.

"Spring is no friend of the old and venerable."

"Shouldn't that be 'vulnerable'?" Waltz asked, settling down in her customary spot.

Voss narrowed his eyes at her. "I thought that you liked that new, plush, orthopaedic chair in your office."

"Good thing I change my locks frequently," she quipped.

Eri'dantae was the last to enter the room, watching Dr. Levine choke on the stimcaf. Smirking, he settled limp-boned into his chair.

"Now that we are all here, can we get down to business?" Voss asked, making eye contact with everyone. "Firstly, where is she?"

"In her rooms, Admiral, working her way through recent history tapes," Waltz answered, consulting the datapad. "I believe she is studying the peace treaty between the New Republic and the Imperial Remnant at the moment."

"That will keep her busy. Your pad is linked to hers, isn't it?" At her nod, he smiled. "Let me know if she turns it off." He turned to Levine. "Doctor, your report?"

"She is physically as able as she is likely to be. Baring any massive body building endeavour, she will remain at this level of strength and fitness. Her blood tests are coming back normal for her body type. Bone density tests are good, but show that her shoulders and knees will give her problems if she looses tone. As it is, there are signs of pre-arthritis like symptoms in the knees. I would suggest keeping up with strengthening exercises in those areas, Eri'dantae."

The marital instructor nodded, making notes on his own datapad.

"She is beginning to ask me questions, albeit only after doing her own research in the medical databases. I've been clocking her log-in times. At this time, she hasn't realized this, nor has she begun to hack in as another user--"

"She has," Waltz interrupted. "She leaves her account open and wanders through a backdoor password the Admiral set up at the installation. She's been using two consoles in her rooms, one desk and one mobile. I caught her at it once or twice this week. She's in the medical databases, but often in other sections. I can give you the log in information to track her progress."

"Please," Levine muttered, looking disgruntled.

"Anything else to add, doctor?" Voss asked, keeping a smile hidden.

"Not at this time," she answered.

"Waltz? Why not complete your report?"

She smirked. "Sure. She has been asking me less medical questions; the type that teenage girls ask each other. Opinions on clothing, and female dress codes, especially."

"How is she taking that?" Levine asked.

"Not too bad. She mainly thinks that everything hangs loosely, and she has more room in her sweaters. She's not up to dresses and skirts yet; the look I got when I suggested it! But she is in more feminine cuts, and experimenting with color. Still prefers black and white. Makes her look like a waiter, though, or some business executive's secretary."

"Tell her that, Waltz," Eri'dantae said. "She respects your opinion if she's taken any of your suggestions. She needs to know what others are thinking about her."

"I'll lead up to up next time. Right now, she's having the droids make adjustments to her wardrobe with properly fitted clothes. I also took her proper measurements, and added that to your records, doctor."

Levine raised an eyebrow, checking her datapad. "How did you manage that?"

"She raised the topic of athletic garments. Apparently, she was getting quite sore by the end of her training sessions with Eri'dantae. I mentioned that she needed proper fit for any equipment, she allowed how that was true, and I cornered her into letting me take those necessary measurements."

Levine toasted her with her half empty mug.

"Thank you, thank you. I wanted to ask, though, why the longer hair now? I thought that there were military rules on the length of hair. Isn't she well past it, it being a hand away from her waist?"

Voss nodded. "I wondered at that myself. It's nearly as long as he had it when I found him on that backwater world of his exile. Now then I could understand it for protection from wind and for heat retention, but now?"

Eri'dantae leaned forward. "In the area that he grew up in as a commoner," he explained, "women wear their hair long until they are widowed or dishonoured by adultery. She seemed uncomfortable with the shorter hair when she first awoke, so it appears she is staying with Chiss custom. Chiss military protocols allow for the custom, so long as on duty it is bound up in a tight head braid. She has been keeping it tied back in training sessions."

"Indeed?" Voss mused, leaning back in his chair. "How are the training sessions going, dare I ask?"

Eri'dantae smiled slightly. "Better now the ground work has been laid in."

"I still don't like your methods," Levine interrupted. "Let me know the next time you want to play psychologist. You could have found another way to get your point across other than leading her to believe that you would take advantage of her."

If Chiss could roll their eyes, Parck thought, the instructor would be right now. "And again, Doctor, she would believe nothing else than blunt truth forced at her. She was not responding well to being coddled, as I told you she would not, and delicacy is only for the diplomatic tables. Or would you prefer a meltdown the first time she's put in that position in the field?"

Levine had no answer to that.

"Believe me, Doctor, it wasn't our first choice of the methods we came up with," Voss soothed. "Eri'dantae would not have gone much farther than he did. She did what was needed: reacted completely as a female would, instinctively. Continue, Eri'dantae."

"She isn't nearly as angry at the end of the day, but still has a bit to go before complete unity between reality and her thought patterns. Her reaction time is up, flexibility is good, and overall she only needs a few more teaching sessions before a simple sparring partner would suffice."

Waltz put up a hand. "I'm trained in a few martial arts, enough to get by. I could help on off days. Splitting between a male and female opponent might be good for her."

Voss looked to Eri'dantae, who nodded once. "Excellent."

"Ladies and gentleman, we just logged off. Back to stations," Waltz announced. Smiling, she said, "We must all do lunch again."

* * *

The light knock on his door brought Voss's attention away from the reports that his glazed eyes weren't focusing on. Blinking in the dull light from his desk lamp, he keyed his door open, expecting yet another ensign with reports that he really needed to read, and really didn't want to look at.

She stood in the doorway, slightly turned away as if leaving.

"Come in, come in," he called, heaving to his feet and gesturing her to the sofas by the fireplace. "What can I do for you, my dear?"

"A little Jawa thought you might still be awake at this hour and sent me to remind you that sleep is still required for 'aging pieces of kindling'." She shook her head, settling cat-like on the cushions.

Voss chuckled. "Waltz thinks that one good spark will send me up in smoke."

"Her heart is in the right place, Voss. You shouldn't fuss so much."

"Isn't that the black hole telling space it is black?"

She smiled. Looking idly about the room, she said, as if off the top of head, "How did the staff meeting go?"

Parck's hand twitched, nearly spilling the drinks he was pouring. "Meeting?" he stalled. "Oh, the monthly status meeting. Well enough, although we are still running short of good mechanics that are familiar with both Chiss and Imperial designs. I think an 'under the table agreement' with Pellaeon for training would be the best idea."

She smiled slightly. "Indeed. And medically?"

"No new outbreaks of any fevers or plagues, thank the Force." Something was niggling in the back of his mind. He handed her a drink and sat down.

"And morale?"

"Subdued. I think rumours of the first clone's untimely demise have started to shift around the upper ranks. We had too many personnel involved in the cleaning up phase."

"That defeat last week of the _Penultimate_ must not have helped any," she mused, looking at him with a faint smile. "How is the training going of our new recruits?"

Ding-ding. "Well enough that I don't take a personal hand in it." The day's agenda came to mind... "You bugged the office lounge, didn't you." It wasn't really a question.

She toasted him with her glass, openly smirking now. "I dislike the idea of meetings being held about me without being present in some form." She sipped the drink, wincing slightly at the bitterness. "You had suggested several weeks ago that I make my way around the base. I stumbled upon a store room with a very helpful young ensign, more than willing to recommend the correct equipment for quiet surveillance."

"Who--"

"Someone whom I refuse to name."

Parck scowled. "How long have you--?"

"Long enough," she said curtly. They scowled at each other until she relented. "I suppose you do need to consult with the doctor and Eri'dantae. Waltz was necessary for keeping everyone informed and you in caf." She smiled ruefully. "And I can be a handful, can't I?"

Voss nodded, matching her smile. "You can be, yes."

"Speaking of which, I have come to a conclusion on our earlier conversation. I dislike being continually referred to as a pronoun."

Parck winced. "We didn't have--"

She raised a hand to quiet him. "I know. But it seemed best that I choose an appropriate name sooner rather than later." She looked away, suddenly nervous, licking her lips.

"You kept the 'Mitth' part of the name?" Voss asked gently.

"Y-yes, I did. And I dropped the honorific of the eighth house." She was rambling, and she hated it. Now that she was about to speak to Voss about it, it seemed...well, pretentious to choose one's own name, especially one that would be permanent, unlike a call signal or undercover alias. Those were easy to assume, and discard.

"What did you choose, my dear?" Voss said, sitting down beside her. When she didn't respond, he turned her face to him and asked again. "What was your choice?"

She took a deep breath, facing him fully.

"Mitth'ryl."

Voss tried it, nodded. "A good choice, Mitth'ryl."

"It is feminine, and has been used before in the family lines," she said, taking a deep breath and plunging into her reasoning. "We've often reused names in our line. Thrawn was named after a distant uncle. It is common enough among Chiss to be easily remembered. It is similar to a few Basic words, easy enough to pro--"

Voss raised a hand. "Enough, my dear. It suits you." Catching her eyes, he held them until she stopped looking away. "I think it a fine name."

She smiled, and nodded a bit sheepishly. "Good night, Voss."

He saw her to the door, held it open in old-fashioned courtliness. "Good night, Mitth'ryl."

* * *

Author's Note: I choose the name for several reasons, and yes, I know that it sounds like mithril, the Elvin substance in Tolkien's books. It has been used in several fantasy genres now to denote silver of high quality, and of a precious metal. I thought it fitting as a second name, silver denoting second place in the medals of our Olympics. She is not the first prize anymore, but she is worthy in other respects and ways now. It was also to tie in with Eri'dantae's name, which I derived from the English word _iridescent_.


	6. Chapter 6

Part Six

Presentation

Parck found her standing on the balcony overlooking the main valley, head tilted up to see the panorama of stars above them. With little escaping light from the base, the vista above them was clear to see. It called them both to its depths. _I still feel like I belong up there, Voss. I'm not supposed to be clipped and fettered to the rocks and soil. I am no Soontir Fel._ He smiled sadly; as much as he wanted to see her safe, she was right.

Six months had passed, and in those, Mitth'ryl had completed her return physically to top form, mentally ready for the life she was to continue, and retrained in several aspects of military sciences. No one could claim that she wasn't fit for the rank that was her birthright. She'd excelled at areas that the admiral hadn't, and kept all the knowledge that he had left her. She was ready as she would ever be to take on the mantel that her predecessor had left her.

"They are all assembled, Admiral."

She turned to him, hands clasped behind her back. The uniform of an admiral fit her well. The self-confidence fit her even better. The pride of service was back in her spine, and the knowing glint of omnipotence was back in her eyes. The slight smile she turned to him was both nostalgic and welcoming.

"You have one last chance to disavow the whole thing, Admiral Parck," she said, eyebrow raised. He'd said that to Voss the night before the Emperor had exiled the Chiss from court, standing watching the Coruscant nightscape. Mitth'ryl walked up to him, turning for the moment away from the stars.

He met her eyes, glowing red in the darkness, and shook his head. "I agreed, all those years ago, to leave civilization as I knew it, to come out into the darkness and push it back with a dear friend whom happened to be a tactical genius. I stayed out here because I promised him I would continue that work, and because I enjoyed it."

He frowned. "But I found, over the years, that it is better when, at the end of a mission, I can settle down with friends to a good meal and a warm hearth." He placed both hands on her shoulders. "I would not have traded those years for anything under the stars, nor would I trade you for him or him for you."

She smiled warmly. "Thank you, my old friend," she murmured.

He returned her smile, gripping one more time before releasing her shoulders. Straightening his uniform, he turned smartly and headed back inside.

She turned back to the vista above her for a brief moment, looking beyond the stars to the depth of space. Nodding once to herself, she turned and strode inside.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you all to those who read it, and I try to answer any signed reviews. Any questions can be sent to the email off the profile page, or left in a review.


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